“On you?”
“Maybe because I was trying to manoeuvre him out of the door – I was nearer to him than Ali. I can’t think of any other reason that makes sense.”
“Do you think he intended to hurt you when he arrived at the flat?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why did he suddenly change, do you think?”
“I’ve got no idea. He didn’t know either – or at least, that’s what he said to the police. Unless he was lying, or has remembered something new, he still doesn’t know why he flipped, or what he was going to do. As far as I know.”
There’s a pause while he reflects. She picks at her fingers, then at the arm of the chair, waiting.
“If you were able to talk to him, now, if he was in this room, what would you say?”
“I’d want to ask why.”
“Be more specific.”
“Why attack us – why us, and what happened that night to make him turn so violent?”
“Anything else?”
“I’d want to know exactly what he remembers, find out what exactly happened to Ali.”
*
“What shall we do with this?” Lisa holds up a cricket bat, with signatures scrawled on its side.
“Oh God. His prized possession. That’ll have to be wrapped up properly and go on the keep pile.”
Jessica is clearing out Mike’s belongings and Lisa’s helping to separate their two lives. They’ve already cleared the attic and his things are piled up on the landing to be sorted into those he’ll want to keep and those he won’t. Jessica had offered to do the unpleasant work herself, not wanting him to spend hours at the house.
“I’ll wrap it in a T-shirt for the moment,” Lisa says. “We’re going to need some boxes, the keep pile is huge.”
Jessica stares at the collection of pewter beer mugs and the old vinyls. “Yes, this is the worst bit, I think. The bedroom should be much easier as it’ll mainly be clothes. We’ll stick it all in the garage for him to collect.”
Jessica gets on with it without sentimentality, which is a relief for Lisa. She’s still too fragile to provide emotional support to someone else. Only yesterday, out walking through the village with Riley, the strong smell of whisky from a broken bottle in a waste bin triggered a vivid flashback, leaving her shaking and hyperventilating; she’d had to lean on a wall for a few minutes until it had passed. Her recovery is achingly slow, and though she has moments of positivity, she still dreads the next confrontation, the loud noise, the trigger that sends her back to that dreadful night.
Jessica appears at the bedroom door, her hair dishevelled, her face flushed from the effort of dragging a large suitcase full of clothes onto the landing.
“I never realised how many suits he had,” she says, puffing with the effort. “And shirts, and shoes, and belts, and… just… kit.” She sits down on the top step and pushes her hair from her face. “I’m all dusty and sweaty. How about a break?”
“Good idea.”
They sit down in the living room with a cup of tea. “It’s therapeutic, even if it’s hard work.” Jessica says. “I feel I’m doing something positive about my life, at last, not just sitting here in limbo. It’s a second chance to do what I really want to do, not just wait for it to happen to me.”
Lisa thinks about what she’s just said. Yes, that’s what I need. A second chance.
*
Something’s different. It’s the air in the hall, the light from the kitchen door falling on the terracotta tiles, the dust drifting down like tiny snowflakes on a winter’s night. She closes the front door quietly, opens her mouth to call, then shuts it again, reluctant to disturb the heavy silence. Riley, usually the first to push through to the kitchen, stops and whines gently.
“Shh, Riley,” she says, and gathering her courage she walks towards the kitchen door. As she pushes, it creaks and she eases herself through the small opening, trying not to make more noise. Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the light from the kitchen window after the gloom of the hallway.
John is there in his chair as usual, his hands in his lap, the blanket she gave him for Christmas over his knees, his eyes half-open. A ray of sunlight falls across his silver hair, combed thinly over translucent skin, and lands in a warm glow on his pale cheek as his head rests gently against the wing of his chair.
He’s dead.
He looks so calm sitting there. She pulls off her jacket and draws up a chair in front of him. “Oh, John.” She reaches across and touches his bony hand, feels for a pulse, just in case. There’s nothing and the skin is cold. She bows her head and the tears fill her eyes.
She feels no need to rush. She sits for a while with Riley on her lap, keeping John company. She will miss his gentle presence, his modest conversation and the relationship they’ve built over the year since she first saw him in the garden. She’ll remember him every day as she wakes to see that soft muzzle lying beside her. She owes him a huge debt of gratitude, for she knows Riley has saved her. Without him, she would have faded into obscurity.
Finally, having said her silent goodbyes, she stands, goes to the telephone and calls the doctor.
*
Half an hour later she opens the door to Doctor Morris and leads him down the corridor to the kitchen. She puts Riley in the garden to keep him out of the way and watches while the doctor examines the frail figure propped in the chair. It only takes a moment, then he closes John’s eyes and straightens up.
“You’re right, he’s gone. I’ll take over from here. Any idea about next of kin?”
“There’s a nephew in Spain. Oscar, I think John said his name was. But I don’t know his number, or where exactly he is.”
“Nobody nearer?”
“I don’t think so. He has a few friends here, but no relatives that I know of. I’ll have a look for a phone number now.”
It feels wrong to be looking through John’s things, but the doctor is occupied with paperwork, so she starts to look through the pile of papers on top of the cabinet, where bills and statements, handwritten notes and photographs lie in an unruly pile. Luckily, there’s also a small address book and as she flicks through it she finds a well thumbed page with Oscar Grey’s address and a phone number.
“I think I’ve found it.”
“Would you be able to make the call?”
Her heart skips a beat. This is entirely different, she reminds herself firmly. “I think so.” She dials the number quickly, so that she can’t think about it too much, and when the phone is answered almost immediately by a woman’s voice speaking in Spanish, she’s dumbfounded for a moment.
“Er – sorry, do you speak English?”
“A little.”
“Is Oscar Grey there please?”
“Oscar is working. You want I give him a message?”
“Oh. Yes – can you ask him to call urgently, please, it’s about his uncle, John Grey. It’s very important.” She gives John’s number, slowly, and her own, not sure what else to do.
“Important – yes, I tell him.”
She replaces the receiver and exhales.
She hovers by the phone, feeling out of place, desperate to retreat to her own environment, but embarrassed to leave too soon. Doctor Morris glances at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here for a while, no need for you to stay if you’d rather go home.”
“Oh, thank you – are you sure?”
He nods and smiles, so she calls Riley in from the garden. Before she leaves, she leans over John and kisses his cold forehead. “Goodbye from both of us, and thank you,” she whispers, tears threatening. She feels the doctor’s eyes on her as she goes.
*
At home, she lies down on the sofa and falls into a fitful sleep, drifting in and out of disturbing dreams, an ache of anxiety constant in the shifting scenes flitting through her mind. A flurry of activity in the street drags her back to consciousness and, forcing her legs to move, she goes to the window.
A funeral car sits outside John’s
house, its back door open, a malevolent creature waiting to swallow its prey. As she watches, sombre-suited men carry a stretcher out, their burden tactfully swathed in dark fabric. She watches them leave, standing back so she can’t be seen. Then, not knowing what else to do, she gathers her jacket, the house keys and the dog and sets off to see Jessica. As she closes the front door behind her, Doctor Morris is at John’s front gate, about to leave.
“Are you all right?” he says.
“I’m fine, thanks. Did his nephew call?”
“Yes, it’s all sorted. He’s coming on the next flight out of Barcelona – he’ll be here later tonight. I’ve had John taken to the mortuary. His nephew will take over from there.”
“Will he be able to get into the house?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve left John’s keys in a safe place, so he’ll let himself in. It may be late, so don’t be alarmed if you hear him arrive.”
“Right, okay, thanks.”
He’s looking at her intently. “Are you sure you’re all right? It’s not the easiest thing to have to deal with.”
“I think so.” But when she clips the dog lead onto Riley’s collar, her hands are shaking. She puts them in her pockets, feigning nonchalance.
“Look, get in touch if you need anything. I’m on call anyway.” He hands her a card. “Sometimes these things come back to visit you.”
If only he knew.
*
Oscar rings on Lisa’s doorbell and introduces himself. He’s tall, with a mop of brown hair and a light tan.
“I’m sorry you had to find him; the doctor told me. Are you all right?” he says.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” She’s not fine, though. She feels like she’s swimming through jelly; her mind has gone fuzzy.
“He wrote to me every so often. He said you’d become friends and given Riley a home.”
“Yes. He was a lovely man. We’ll miss him very much.”
When he’s gone, she calls to cancel the week’s therapy – she can’t face it. In the back of her mind she knows she’s avoiding something, but she misses John’s steady presence, more than she thought.
She gets on with her work over the next few days, but her mind isn’t engaged and she doesn’t trust herself to do anything that requires any intellectual effort. She’s too tired to walk, though she trundles round the lake for Riley’s sake, and too tired to sleep, her legs twitching and her shoulders tight. She worries vaguely that she might be heading for some kind of a breakdown. Another death, albeit very different from the first, is still another death, at a time when the fallout from the first is still very much affecting her life. It’s all crowding in on her.
Jessica’s upset at John’s death, but not surprised. Lisa admires her practicality, her way of getting on with her life despite the setbacks. She’s realised what a pragmatic person Jessica really is now that she has the strength, not given to dwelling on things. She’s got two interviews in the diary for part-time teaching jobs and is full of optimism about her life’s new direction. Talking to her, Lisa feels oddly detached.
*
For Lisa, funeral attire is everyday. Her reflection in the mirror is the same as usual: a pale, serious face, unsmiling eyes with dark smudges below, a grey scarf wrapped around her neck, her body hidden under a black top and trousers. The vertical lines above her nose make her look slightly cross. She lifts her eyebrows and they disappear, then frowns again and leaves to meet Jessica on the way to the service.
Only a handful of people come to John’s funeral. Two elderly men arrive together, one with a stick, walking painfully and slowly into the village church. Both men in suits, handkerchiefs neatly folded in the top pocket, shoes polished, hair neatly parted and slicked down. Even without the occasion, Lisa would have guessed they were friends of John’s.
Oscar and his wife greet them at the church gate. They walk together into the church and take their seats towards the front, where the coffin waits. Lisa imagines John’s frail body within, gently decaying. It’s cold in the church, its stone floors and draughty stained-glass windows chilled by the October wind. She shivers, only partly from the temperature. At the last moment, as the vicar prepares to speak, Doctor Morris arrives and joins the small group of mourners in a pew towards the back.
Lisa’s mind is still foggy – which, given the potential for this to be a stressful day, might or might not be a good thing. She recalls the funeral she didn’t get to as the vicar drones on. She stands, sings, sits and prays automatically, without absorbing anything much, and she has to force herself back to John, to acknowledge him, even at his own funeral. This occasion is quite different from Ali’s memorial service, though, and to her it seems sad but appropriate, as opposed to utterly, hopelessly tragic, and tinged with horror.
After the service the small group, including the vicar, reconvenes at John’s house for tea and sandwiches. Lisa brings Riley to his old master’s house, perhaps, she thinks, for the last time. Jessica, across the small living room, soon gets into a deep conversation with Oscar and his wife, but Lisa is awkward and tongue-tied among so many strangers. She’s wondering how she can leave without being noticed when Doctor Morris comes up to her.
“How are you doing, Lisa?” he says, offering her a sandwich from the tray he’s balancing precariously in his left hand.
“I’m… well, thanks.”
“Were you close? I mean, I know you helped him out, but were you friends?”
“Yes, we were. He was a very nice man, easy to talk to.”
“It’s upsetting finding someone like that.”
“Yes.” She’s already stuck for something to say and pretends to sip her tea, which is still too hot and burns her lip, while he puts the tray of sandwiches down on the table behind them. She watches his slim back as he moves. He’s wearing a silver grey jacket and his hair touches the collar of his shirt at the nape of his neck. Next to him she feels plain and dowdy.
He turns back to her. “It may be an idea to see someone to talk it through with, if you’re finding it difficult. I can recommend a local psychotherapist, if you think you might need one.”
“Oh – no, it’s okay.” She responds a bit too quickly and he looks at her enquiringly. “Actually, I’m already seeing someone for something else.”
He takes it in his stride, as if it’s completely normal to be in therapy – which, to a doctor, it probably is. She stammers, embarrassed. “But thank you, it’s kind of you to think of it.”
“No problem, it’s what I do. But I do know, even if you feel all right at first, it might hit you later, so do look after yourself, won’t you?”
She nods, unable to speak.
“Do you live alone?” They both look at Riley and he laughs. “Of course you don’t, you have him. He’s lovely.” He bends to stroke the dog’s head. “But, anyone else to look after you?”
“I’m fine, really – I’m used to it. And there’s Jessica, over there.”
“Ah yes, we met briefly at the village fete.” He looks over at Jessica, who’s still deep in conversation with Oscar and his wife, then glances at his watch and jumps.
“I have to go. Sorry. Please excuse me – and look after yourself. Go and see your therapist.”
“I will.”
“And you have my card if you need to talk.” He smiles at her and he’s gone.
She grabs Riley’s lead and slips back home, unnoticed.
*
John’s death has triggered a new sense of hopelessness, a despondency that she can’t seem to shake. In the days following his funeral she lies in bed for long hours, dozing or staring into space, barely able to move. She’s aware of the phone ringing and once or twice Riley jumps up when the doorbell goes, but she doesn’t move. The picture of Ali is still by her bed, together with the silver box, and she puts them close so they’re the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes.
She doesn’t even want to talk to her mum and she knows her voice will give her away. She waits unt
il a time when she’s likely to be out with her friends and leaves a message with the radio on in the background to give the impression that everything is normal. She tries to sound cheerful, saying how busy she is with work and sorry not to have called before.
She comes across Doctor Morris’s card in the kitchen and ponders it, remembering his words. But calling him is out of the question. Everything’s pointless, a struggle, not worth the effort. She eats cereal and biscuits and it’s only when these run out that she drags herself into some clothes and gives her patient dog a short walk to the shop.
Riley’s joy at being out at last triggers her guilt, though, and she changes course for the lake, hoping there’s no-one around. But Jessica’s the first person she sees and it’s too late to turn away.
“Lisa – how are you? I’ve been calling. Did you go away? Everything all right?”
“Yes, sorry… I’ve been ill.”
“Well, you look terrible. Have you seen the doc?”
“No. It’s nothing, really. I’m just a bit… low.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me. Come to mine, I’m going to give you a coffee and something to eat. You look as if you’re fading away!”
Reluctantly she allows herself to be ushered towards Jessica’s house, where Jessica cuts big chucks of fresh bread and makes cheese and tomato sandwiches. Lisa nibbles distractedly, to be polite, though she couldn’t feel less like eating.
“Is it because of John? Finding him like that must have been pretty awful for you.”
“No. Well, yes – in a way. Actually it wasn’t finding him, it’s more that – well, too much bad has happened and it all seems so pointless.” To her horror, her eyes fill with tears. She can’t contain them and they pour down her face, dripping from her jaw onto the table in front of her. She makes no effort to wipe them.
Jessica sits down in front of her. “Lisa, you must see someone. What about The Psycho?”
Lisa shakes her head. “I cancelled. I just couldn’t.”
“Rearrange it. I’ll drive you there. It’s important and you need someone to help you. Do you have the number with you? We’ll do it now.”
In the end Lisa allows herself to be led back home to make the call. Jessica sits with her as she dials Graham’s number and leaves a message for him to call with the next available appointment. Jessica is adamant that she’ll drop everything and they should go as soon as possible, and insists she leaves Jessica’s mobile number as an alternative, just in case. Then they go together to the shop, both dogs following, to buy supplies for Lisa’s empty food cupboards. Lisa allows herself be led and cajoled and when they return to the house, laden with carrier bags, they seem to have enough to feed a family of four for the next month.
Dare to Remember: Shocking. Page-Turning. Psychological Thriller. Page 19